


Gotta Be Larger Than Life

by Wolfenstein



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wreck-It Ralph, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfenstein/pseuds/Wolfenstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because Derek wrecks things professionally doesn't mean he's a bad guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gotta Be Larger Than Life

**Author's Note:**

> You're not really in this fandom until you have an AU WIP, amirite? The title of this changed about four times while I wrote the first part but you can't improve on Bonnie Tyler. Haven't decided yet whether to add pairings to the foreground, it might remain about the power of friendship but we'll see. Based on the movie Wreck-It Ralph.

"You can keep spending your sessions not talking, if you want, but you're running out of credits."

Derek sighed up at the ceiling. He sat on the floor when he came to therapy now; it was just easier since the second time he'd accidentally destroyed the couch. Dr. Mario sat behind his desk, catching up on his paperwork while Derek failed to talk as usual. He looked like he was writing prescriptions again. Derek wasn't sure the guy had any training in psychology but it wasn't like doctors were thick on the ground.

"It's the 25th anniversary of my game," he said finally.

The doctor just waited silently. He may not even have been listening. Somehow that made it easier to talk.

"It's the 25th anniversary and there was a big party, bigger than the 20th, and they forgot to invite me again. Just like to all the other anniversary celebrations." He looked down at his fingernails, blunted by physical labour. "And I guess I can see why, because I know I just break everything, but I still feel kind of hurt."

There was a vague humming sound, maybe an 'I'm listening' noise or maybe a 'what shall I have for lunch' noise.

"I mean I know it's fine, I don't have things so bad. I have my own place. In the woods. And it's big and quiet and a little wrecked compared to the apartment building, but it's mine. My own trash pile. So things could be worse." He sighed and it sounded like he was exhaling the weight of the whole world.

Dr. Mario looked up from his prescription pad and gave Derek a very solemn look. "I won't tell you it's not okay to feel like you do. It's tough to be the bad guy. I know Wario and I don't always get along the best. But you have a job to do, and it's up to you to do it well. When you play a game, Derek, you play it to win, don't you?"

"Of course," said Derek.

"We all do," said Dr. Mario calmly. "And sometimes it means you can't have the social life you may want for yourself outside of the ten-to-eight and ten-to-ten on weekends, but that's just how life is." He shuffled some things around on his desk and Derek realized that his session must be over.

"Are you still attending group?" Dr. Mario asked as he saw Derek to the door.

"Yes," said Derek, feeling heavy.

"Good. They're good guys, for bad guys. Let them help you." And he ushered Derek out the door into the reception room. Derek spotted some regular characters, none of whom made eye contact, and so he made his way sadly past Nurse Peach with his hands held tightly to his sides, trying not to bump anything accidentally before he made his way out of the doctor's office. It was just a few levels down to his support group, which was nice, although he wished Dr. Mario had some food or that there was more time for a pit stop between his therapy sessions and group. He ignored his rumbling stomach as he made his way down the back hallway of Level Three and into the usual room, with its usual ring of chairs and its usual 'inspirational' posters on the walls.

Clyde was already there, talking quietly with Donkey Kong, while other villains trickled in slowly. When Derek spotted not only Shao Kahn but also Scorpion taking chairs, he nearly turned on his heel and left--get a group of those Mortal Kombat assholes together and you'd think they were the only villains in the arcade with problems--but Bowser picked that moment to swagger in, blocking the entire doorway and grunting a hello at Derek as he edged sideways to fit his shell through. Derek sighed through his nose and took a chair between Neff and Wild Dog, who was cleaning his gun arm like that was a good way to pass time in public.

When most of the chairs were filled, Clyde hovered straighter over his chair and looked around the room. "Is Smoke coming tonight?" he asked Shao Kahn, who shook his head.

"Thank CPU," muttered Wild Dog under his breath, peering through a cylinder from his gun arm.

If Shao heard, he didn't acknowledge it. "He had to stay and talk down Motaro. That asshole Johnny Cage was running his mouth again and Motaro was talking about how he was going to practice his new fatality on him. Things are tense."

"If that dickbag would shut up sometimes," started Scorpion.

Derek rolled his eyes.

"He was telling me this afternoon about how he played a sheriff in a movie or something once, apparently he's an expert on the law now. I asked him if he was gonna arrest me for trying to take over the universe," laughed Shao, holding out his wrists as if for handcuffing. "Right? Can you imagine?"

"I'm sure he could groin punch you into submission," said Scorpion, leaning back in his chair.

The two of them hooted with laughter until Clyde hovered a little higher in the air, flashing a few times to get everyone's attention. "Guys? If we could? Thanks. All right, I'd like to call this meeting of Bad-Anon to order. Remember the rules. Now, who'd like to share first?"

Derek scanned the room. Bowser was picking at a claw. Wild Dog was reassembling his arm, Donkey Kong was staring at a poster. Neff scratched a horn.

This was it. He cleared his throat. "I'd like to share." He looked down at his knees, bent awkwardly on the too-short chair, and organized his thoughts. "Hi, I'm Derek. I'm the villain from Fix It Faster. Today was my game's 25th anniversary."

There was polite applause and congratulations from around the circle.

"Thanks," he said. "Um, so anyway, it was the anniversary, a big one, and they threw a party."

"I heard about that," said Neff. "Sounded like a rager. Peter said he and Athena were gonna go together. Thought they might see Mario and Luigi." He paused. "That was tonight, wasn't it?"

Derek shrugged. "Yeah. I wasn't invited."

Silence fell. Derek couldn't decide if it was more pitying or commiserating and which idea he hated more.

"I've still never actually been to one of the parties," said Derek quietly into the silence. "I get the impression there's cake, though."

"Cake good," grunted Cyril the zombie. "Not as good as brains, but fondant very nice."

Derek floundered for a way to continue his story. "I just. I dunno. I know they don't want me there because I spend all day wrecking their home, but it's just my job. And. Why can't I have cake too, sometimes? But they won't let me in. Scott gets all these medals for being the hero of the game and fixing things and I just go home to my trash pile where there's nothing to do, and." He ran out of steam right around there.

"We understand where you're coming from, Derek," said Clyde softly. "It can be hard to be the bad guy."

Bowser looked up from his claws. "Sometimes, when Peach and I are less on-again and more off-again, and the only people I have to talk to are my Koopas, it gets lonely. And then when she and I get back together she gets all 'let's hang out with Mario, it's fine really, he's cool with it' and then I have to go along even though it's _not_ fine, it's incredibly awkward--my point is," he said, resting his giant paws on his stubby knees, "protag-antag relationships are a minefield. There's no easy route. And that's all down to the fundamental nature of your work relationship."

"Scott's okay," said Derek reluctantly. Not that he invited Derek to things but at least he'd say hello sometimes. But Scott was friendly to everybody, running around fixing things and smiling like it was no big deal. "But how do you make it better? I don't want this for another twenty-five years."

Neff snorted. "Count yourself lucky if you get another ten."

"That's not productive, Neff," said Clyde.

Bowser glanced at Neff, and then said, "There's no making it better, kid. You just have to accept what you've been given. Going Turbo isn't an option."

"But--"

"You can't stop being the bad guy," Wild Dog joined in. "Every game needs one."

"I'm tired of being the bad guy," said Derek.

"Without you, there's no game," pointed out Dr. Robotnik, who'd been doodling in a notebook and muttering to himself up until then. "You have to break it all down so Scott can build it all up again and get his medal. You're part of the grand framework, Derek."

"Good, bad," grunted Cyril. "All just labels. Not reflect insides. You must love you before others can."

"Well said, Cyril," said Clyde. "Remember our affirmation, Derek: I'm bad, and that's good. I will never be good, and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me."

Derek nodded, feeling heavy again.

"Thank you for sharing tonight. It gets easier after the first time." There was a pregnant pause, and then Clyde went on, "Would anyone else like to share?"

Scorpion sat up from his slouch. "Scorpion. Mortal Kombat." He waited the bare minimum time for people to mutter back the standard greeting before continuing. "I got into it with Sub-Zero again."

Clyde sighed. "Do you remember your action plan?"

"He called me a palette swap!"

***

When the meeting finally let out, Neff clapped Derek on the back, nearly poking him in the eye with a rhinoceros horn. "BurgerTime?" he offered, waving at a few other group members who usually went together.

Derek was not interested in further discussion of his feelings. He was all set for one day. "I'm pretty beat," he said. "Think I'll go home, move some bricks around."

"If you say so."

And so Derek made his way out of Dr. Mario, managing to get on a subway car mostly devoid of other bad guys. Game Central Station was at its usual middle-of-the-night frenzy, and as Derek exited the subway platform he almost tripped over the Surge Protector before he saw the unimpressed look he was getting.

"Random security check, sir."

Derek exhaled loudly through his nose. The Surge Protector was unaffected, tapping his pen on his clipboard impatiently. "Random, huh? If they're so random then why do you always assault _me_?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," said the Surge Protector, looking offended now. "I'm just doing my job. If you have a complaint, take it up through the proper channels. Now, what's your name?"

"Samus Aran," Derek snapped.

"Anything to declare?"

"This is discrimination."

"You have no goods to declare export of from Dr. Mario?"

"No," said Derek.

"You are aware it's illegal to export food or medicine from games?"

"You tell me every time I step out of one," said Derek sweetly.

"Carry on, Mr. Aran." The Surge Protector walked away.

Derek watched him disappear into the crowd with a fizzle and the smell of ozone before making his way over to a billboard about Game Safety, underneath which sat a sad-looking turtle.

"Glen," said Derek.

Glen looked around surreptitiously. "You got the stuff?" he asked.

Derek obligingly held out a blue-yellow pill. Glen nodded and took it, reaching behind his makeshift sign ('NEED MEDICINE FOR A SICK FRIEND PLEASE HELP') to produce a sundae. "Got this from Bubble Bobble," said Glen, nudging it forward. Derek smiled as he picked it up.

"How's Frogger doing, anyway?" he asked. Their game had finally gotten unplugged six months ago; Frogger and Glen had barely escaped with their lives.

Glen sighed. "If he'd look before he leaps a little more." He shook his head sadly. "We do okay. This will help a lot. Can you bring more next week though?"

"Yeah," said Derek. "I don't see why the doc can't hook you up himself, though. He's a pill pusher."

"You fall through the cracks, when you're homeless," said Glen. "Not having a safe game to go back to voids your insurance."

Derek winced. Of course, dying outside your game was no joke. It made sense. "Well, take it easy," he said, waving as he turned to go back to the platform for Fix It Faster. He started eating his sundae as he walked, figuring some staticky security guard would confiscate it before he made it on the subway back to his game. In the end, he leaned on one of the stupid new Sonic PSA ads to finish his food, watching crowds go by. There were a bunch of new faces; the arcade had replaced a lot of its old, unplugged games with newer stuff recently. Derek had seen a lot of games come and go in twenty-five years.

He made it on the subway unchallenged for a quiet solo ride back to his game. The platform in Fix It Faster was ramshackle and boxy, but it didn't creak when Derek stepped on it. The woods were quiet, and Derek smiled a little as he started walking home.

The noise picked up the closer he got to his trash heap and the apartment building, though. As he came out of the trees, he looked up and yep, the party was still going. Derek looked at his brickpile, and then back up at the building. They were going to go till opening, which wasn't for hours. He wouldn't be able to sleep with all that racket.

"You wouldn't have had a game to celebrate the anniversary of without me," he said aloud. Then he squared his shoulders and went inside the building.

The party was in the penthouse, and although Derek normally scaled the outside of the building, tonight he was going to take the elevator like a dignified member of society. He got in and punched the button, which bent a little under his finger. Whoops. The doors shuddered closed and he felt a little lurch as he went up ten floors to the top. The music was really loud up here, and he crossed the hallway carefully to knock on the door to the penthouse.

It took several seconds to open, and when it did Scott was saying over his shoulder something about Mario having to be fashionably late. Then he turned around and saw Derek standing there.

"Um," said Scott, his face falling.

"Quite a party in there," said Derek.

"Well, it's our anniversary," said Scott awkwardly.

"Is it? Already? LAN sakes, I forgot," said Derek. "Time flies."

They stared at each other for a long time, the party settling down from its window-rattling levels as its participants noticed the awkward situation in the hallway. Finally, Scott said, like his teeth were being pulled, "Would you... like to join us?"

"I can spare a few minutes, I guess," said Derek, stepping past Scott to enter the room. The whole place instantly died, everyone staring at him.

"Who let him in here?" said a voice from the right.

"Nice to see you too, Victoria," said Derek blandly. "Is that cake?"

"No!" she said, and when he turned around quickly he accidentally hit a coffee table, knocking it over and watching sadly as it splintered into pixels on the floor.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"No problem," said Scott, slipping past him and pulling his golden hammer out of his belt. One tap reassembled the table. A cheer went up.

"Great job, Scott!" someone called. Scott smiled.

Derek rolled his eyes and made his way across the room, apartment residents scattering before him and two more pieces of furniture falling in his wake, and then he was standing in front of the cake. It was shaped like the building. The top had fondant sculptures of Scott with his hammer and medal, and most of the residents. Derek looked for himself... and then found his figure. It was on the ground beside the tower, sitting in something that looked like mud and looking furious. He didn't even make that face.

"Wow," he said, looking down at fondant-Derek.

Scott joined him. "I think that's chocolate pudding, for the mud. Victoria made it."

"I hate chocolate," said Derek.

"Sorry, man," said Scott.

"And why can't I be up there with the other sugar people?" He pointed at the top of the building.

"You don't fit in," said Victoria, coming up on Derek's other side. "You belong in the mud, where you fall when Scott wins his medal."

"When you throw me off the building," added Derek, glaring at the cake.

"Yes?" she said, clearly not seeing the problem. Of course, that was Derek's job, when Scott won. It would be Turbo to try and mess with that. But really. That was work.

Before he realized what he was doing, he had reached out and grabbed the angry little Derek out of the pudding. Globs fell off onto the frosting-grass as he reached out and shoved the little figure into the frosting on top of the tower. Two fondant-residents fell over in the process, and he tried to fix them.

"No, stop, what are you doing?" Victoria reached out for the cake, panicking.

"It's fine, I've got it," said Derek, grabbing at a figure. He accidentally squished it into a blob, and then his hand bumped Scott's little figure and it toppled off the tower to land facedown in the pudding-mud.

"You're wrecking it!" she said, batting him away from the cake. Derek looked down at the pink-blue smear of fondant on his finger that used to be Phil, his heart sinking. Then he looked up at Victoria, who was muttering as she fussed with the cake, wiping chocolate pudding off of the little Scott. Derek thought he heard the word, 'worthless'. Scott--the real Scott--was gone, had gone off to mingle again. Derek watched Victoria sigh at the cake and turn to glare at him, and he saw red.

"I'll show you wrecked," he said, and reached out. The cake came apart in pieces under his hands, all different flavored layers held together with colorful frosting. He toppled it over with one push. He demolished it. He crushed the tiny Derek into a gray-pink-brown blob.

"This is why we don't invite you!" Victoria shrieked. "You just wreck things!"

"I'll fix it," cried Scott, pulling out his hammer again.

"You can't fix a cake with a hammer!" she cried. "It's ruined!"

"You should try anyway, Scott," said Derek. "Maybe they'll give you another medal for it."

Scott blinked at him, wounded.

"What do you know about medals?" Someone shouted. "Medals are for heroes! You're a bad guy!"

"Get out!"

"Stop wrecking Scott's party!"

Derek looked around at all the angry faces. "If I had a medal too, you'd change your tune."

"You go get yourself a medal, then," said Victoria with a sneer. "See if they're giving them out to people like you."

"Fine," Derek erupted, wiping cake off of his hands and staining the carpet. "I will."

He stormed out. The doorknob came off in his hands when he slammed the door; he dropped it on the floor and swung himself out a window on the landing to drop to the ground. He wasn't going to get any sleep before the arcade opened; maybe he'd go for a walk in the woods.

**Author's Note:**

> Characters/references in this chapter from unspecified games:
> 
> Dr. Robotnik: Sonic the Hedgehog  
> Clyde: Pac-man  
> Neff and Athena: Altered Beast  
> Wild Dog: Time Crisis  
> Cyril the Zombie: House of the Dead  
> Samus Aran: Metroid


End file.
